Chapter Text
At twenty-two, Gabrielle Delacour was one of the top models in the wizarding world. With her silvery blonde hair, soft pale skin, and a gorgeous pear-shaped figure, it was no wonder that she had graced the cover of Witch Weekly no less than four times.
Of course, being part veela didn’t hurt, either.
Naturally, when she strode into the crowded conference room, the quiet hum of conversation stuttered. She wore her hair loose, but combed back over the shoulders, and was sporting a tan sleeveless knit dress that hugged her curves and showed off her legs. It took a moment before the eyes of the room dragged themselves off her, and talk resumed at a slower pace.
Her manager, Jamie, beckoned her over to the table, where he was speaking to a tall wizard in dark grey robes.
“Ah, here she is now. Miss Delacour, this is Harry Potter, from the Auror office. He’s going to be providing security for our upcoming trip.”
The bottom fell out of Gabrielle’s heart.
“Harry!” she said, shaking his hand with a broad smile. “It has been so long since we have seen each other!”
Harry chuckled as Jamie’s face grew a bit confused. “Miss Delacour and I first met at Hogwarts, during the Triwizard Tournament. We were only children at the time, but I’ll never forget the circumstances under which we met.”
“Yes,” said Gabrielle. “You saved me from a watery doom, as I recall.”
“Marvelous!” said Jamie, clapping his hands. “Nothing like bonding with old friends to make a business trip more interesting then, eh? I expect you two will have a lot to talk about but first we have a protocol conference to endure—I mean watch—from Mr. Abbott.”
He ushered them to adjacent seats at the conference table, and Gabrielle quietly marveled at how much Harry had changed since they were kids.
Gone was the skinny teenager who had pulled her from the lake. In his place stood a somewhat built professional with a charming smile and windswept hair. He was a head taller than her, and carried himself with an easy confidence. He had a jaw now, a strong one, and his green eyes twinkled, and his face was not at all unpleasant to look at…
The presentation had begun. A small man cast his shadow in the light from the projector, and began droning in a stilted voice about the agency’s goals for the upcoming fiscal year. Harry and Gabrielle exchanged brief, exasperated glances, and smiled when they caught themselves.
A playful giddiness rose within her. On impulse, she let slip some of the power of her allure, her hereditary power to compel the minds of men, just enough to poke at the edges of Harry’s mind, and only enough to get a reaction from him if he was already thinking of her.
There was no way he would respond, at least not noticeably, she reasoned with herself. Sure, she had hidden a crush on him since she was eight, but so had half the witches and wizards in the country. He probably hadn’t spared her the slightest thought since his fourth year. There was no way he would actually react to her magical flirting.
Gabrielle started when Harry’s hand rested lightly on her knee.
She sent a questioning look at him out of the corner of her eye, but he took no notice, continuing to observe the presentation with a placid smile on his face. His hand lightly squeezed her knee, as though reassuring her.
She couldn’t do this. It was impossible. It was irresponsible. She was engaged, for God’s sake, to a wealthy and respectable wizard. There was absolutely no way she should respond to Harry’s touch.
But his hand was so warm…
Gabrielle swallowed, her heart pounding. Very slowly, she spread her legs, subtly inviting him in.
Harry took the hint, his fingertips slowly tracing higher and higher up her pale, creamy thigh until they burrowed under her skirt. His touch was electric, sending goosebumps up Gabrielle’s back, and she quickly glanced from side to side to make sure no one had noticed that her head Auror’s hand was sliding into her panties in the middle of the meeting.
His index finger dipped into her waistband, pulled it back and let it snap against her navel. She shivered in a combination of arousal and fear, and one or two heads around the table turned with a slight frown, trying to detect the source of the noise, before returning to the presentation.
Biting her lip guiltily, Gabrielle glanced at Harry again. His face was perfectly calm, as though nothing was amiss. It made her want to scream.
His hand slipped into her panties, cupping her mound, gently massaging it up and down. Gabrielle bit back a pleased sigh as his palm started to grow damp with her arousal. Pretending to stretch, she arched back in her seat as much as she dared, trying to quietly press herself against his wonderful fingers.
Harry shifted, raising his hand slightly higher to gently circle her pearl with two fingers, and Gabrielle slumped back a little as the pleasure started to make her lightheaded.
Trying desperately to control her breathing, she struggled not to cum, her toes curling in her shoes as tingles erupted all over her. Her nipples were pebbled to hard points that were very nearly visible even through her knit dress, and her hands had a white-knuckle grip on the edge of her seat as Harry played with her pussy.
His rhythm was flawless, like a metronome relentlessly beating out the time against her clit. Her body was singing for him, glorying in the relief it never got from Pierre, welcoming the touch of the hero it had been dreaming about since she was a girl with an almost messianic fervor, and she was almost terrified of how much she never wanted him to stop touching her.
Clenching her jaw, and fighting to keep her face blank, Gabrielle endured the biggest orgasm of her life so far with stoic determination, nothing but the faintest tremor passing through her lower body as her mind exploded into pure bliss. Her eyes fluttered shut for perhaps a second longer than was normal, for when she opened them again the presenter had stopped speaking, and was gazing at her with a look of mild concern. Harry’s hand quickly slipped out of her sodden panties, and she couldn’t quite hold back the disgruntled hiss that followed it.
“Miss Delacour, are you feeling a bit ill?”
Scrambling for a moment to remember who she was, she managed to reply breathlessly, “I do feel a bit faint. I may need a glass of water. Would you excuse me for just a moment?”
She didn’t wait for a response, quickly shoving her chair back, rising and straightening her dress in one graceful motion, and stalking out of the conference room without looking back. She heard Harry say something to the others as she left, but not a million Galleons could have tempted her to remain in that room a second longer.
Storming down the hall, her head whirling, Gabrielle hardly paid attention to where she was going. Harry Potter, the man she had been crushing on hopelessly for fourteen years, the Boy Who Lived, the Chosen One, had just fingered her to an impossibly fast mind-blowing orgasm under a conference table in a crowded room.
“And you let him do it,” said a voice at the back of her mind. “You liked it.”
“Shut up!” she thought furiously.
“He was better than Pierre.”
“Hey!”
Gabrielle turned, and was not quite prepared for the wave of mingled emotions that rose within her at the sight of Harry Potter hurrying up the corridor.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” she hissed as he drew closer to her. “You think women just fall down at your feet when you toss them a wink? You think no one will notice if you slip a hand up my skirt? C’est tellement stupide de penser que tu peut te comporter comme ça qu’ils devraient révoquer ton statut d’Auror…”
Harry glanced back and forth, and taking Gabrielle by the elbow, started to lead her down the corridor as she continued to berate him in rapid French, taking no notice of where they were going.
She hardly registered Harry shoving open a door into a dark, cramped space, and had just taken out her wand with the intent of giving him a good and proper curse when suddenly his hands were on his shoulders and his mouth was on hers and…Oh! He was kissing her, soundly and deeply and very, very thoroughly.
Gabrielle was vaguely aware that her arms had fallen around his shoulders, which were broad, and she was kissing him back, on lips that were softer than she would have guessed. His kisses were light and pleasant, with only as much force behind them as they needed to press themselves to her lips, and he let her control the pace as she gently nibbled on his lower lip. The taste of him was heady, like wine, and as her hand gently caressed his jaw, she felt the barest hint of rough stubble there, and made a note to remind him to shave before they did this again…
Feeling daring, she swiped her tongue against the intersection of their mouths, teasing entrance, and felt a leap of scandalous delight as his tongue slipped effortlessly inside, chasing hers with predatory intent. She opened her mouth and tilted her head back, beseeching, and he took the back of her head in hand and plundered her.
She pressed herself closer to him, molding her shape against his, and he sank his fingers into the meat of her ass, grinding his hardness against her crotch. Her knees went weak at the thought of how she was making him feel…how he was making her feel…
Harry pulled his mouth from Gabrielle’s, and as she chased after the lost kiss he murmured, “I know you were charming me back there. If you want to do this, say now. We have to be quick so they don’t suspect.”
Panting and flushed, Gabrielle nevertheless mustered the presence of mind to fix him with a withering glare. “I am a veela. I will not be satisfied with just one!”
With a grin that made her insides go all swoopy, Harry’s hands fumbled at his belt buckle. Gabrielle slid her thumbs into her panties and quickly wriggled them down her long, smooth legs. She nearly tangled them around her ankles in her haste, but Harry seized her about the waist as she clumsily righted herself, and hefted her whole body up into his arms. Gasping in surprise, Gabrielle wrapped her legs around his waist, and found her back slammed against the wall.
A long, sustained moan broke from Gabrielle’s perfect lips as the blunt fullness of Harry’s cock slid inside her. His hands were gripping her haunches hard enough to bruise, and her voice was wavering on a high note in time with his movements.
Gabrielle’s jaw shook as their hips connected. He was actively lifting her up in time with his movements just as much as he was thrusting forward to meet her, muscles tensing under his robe. She briefly entertained the idea of feeling up his biceps, but decided she wasn’t willing to forgo the safety of having her arms wrapped around his shoulders.
“Ohhhh, oui, oui, oui, baise-moi, baise-moi, baise-moi…” Gabrielle keened, eyes squeezed shut, bouncing gently on Harry’s cock in time with his thrusts. “Ouiouioui, comme ça, çomme ça…”
Harry growled, picking up the pace, and through her haze of arousal Gabrielle noticed a pulsing red glow over his shoulder. Belatedly, she realized her wand was still loosely gripped in her hand, and red sparks were flying from the tip every time his cock slammed home inside her.
“Ouhhhhh, je vais jouir, ‘Arry!” she cried.
Squirming and twisting violently against Harry’s chest, Gabrielle came hard for the second time that day, desperately humping out of time with Harry as her glistening arousal coated his cock. Offering no respite, Harry continued to pound her into jelly, and Gabrielle’s head limply flopped onto his shoulder as he thrust up into her.
“Merde! Je n‘ai jamais joui comme ça,” she whispered dazedly.
With a groan, Harry’s pace stuttered, and he hauled Gabrielle a little higher so his cock slid out of her passage, just before his seed arced into the space between them, and splattered in a sinuous line onto the hem of Gabrielle’s dress.
His muscles shaking with exertion, Harry turned and let his back fall against the wall, sliding to the floor with Gabrielle still curled up in his arms. Labored breaths filled the air for a while before either of them spoke.
“Zis was my favorite dress,” Gabrielle moaned, her voice hoarse and throaty. She pinched at the white stains on the fabric.
“It’s my favorite now, too,” Harry chuckled. Gabrielle glared at him.
“I can’t walk around like zis.”
Harry raised his hands in surrender, then reached over to fish his wand from the crumpled heap of his trousers and Vanished the incriminating stain. Gabrielle extracted herself from his lap, and stood to begin patting down her rumpled clothes and mussed hair.
“I’ll leave first, and tell them you went home,” said Harry as he pulled his pants back up. “When you’re sure the corridor is empty, Apparate out, and tell anyone who missed you that you felt ill and took a nap.”
“I cannot go ‘ome. I ‘ave a photoshoot in two hours,” she snapped, her French accent getting more pronounced in anger. She was aggravated by his calmness, his apparent need to rationalize this…whatever it was…into a security matter, as though anything he had just done could be considered remotely professional.
“Where can you say you went, then?”
“Alette’s,” she said, surprising herself with how quickly she caught onto his brainwave. “We often meet zere to share professional charms and zings…things.”
He nodded. “Good. Go there, and say you took your time. We didn’t see each other after we left the conference room. I’ll call you when I get home.”
She caught his arm as he reached for the door. “I don’t know what you think just happened, but it cannot happen again. I am engaged, and you are technically working for me.”
He did that grin again. “Alright, but before you decide anything, there’s something you should know, Miss Delacour.”
Trying to ignore how her heart had picked up a bit, Gabrielle raised a skeptical eyebrow. “And what is that, Mr. Potter?”
“I was using my left hand in the conference room.”
“So?”
“I’m right-handed.”
Her mouth opened a bit as she tried to process his sheer effrontery, but he winked and was gone before she could muster a retort. Resisting the urge to stomp her foot, she straightened her dress, glowering silently to herself as she prepared to Apparate out.